


The Road So Far

by Enamourous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enamourous/pseuds/Enamourous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is massively unfinished, and sorry but it will probably stay that way.</p><p>"Dean couldn't watch him enough. He watched him laughing and grinning and waving his arms around because he simply didn't have any other way to express his happiness. He saw the reflection of sparkling lights in Sam's eyes like glass when he looked towards the sky, and wondered if it was possible that was all Sam and not a reflection at all. Dean watched the joy dance across his brothers face, and knew it was because of him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road So Far

4-7, 8-11

From the time Sam was four to when he was eight he would have nightmares about a fire. More than once Dean woke to feel a small body slipping under the covers next to him, empty, afraid and searching for comfort. John would sometimes find Sam still nestled against Dean when the sun rose.

Their dad told Dean to put a stop to it shortly after Sam turned six, telling him that if Sam had nightmares he needed to deal with them by himself in his own bed; he was old enough to tell what was real and what wasn't.

John never knew but Sam never stopped completely. The only time he felt safe was when he was in Dean's arms breathing him in, and he wasn't going to let anyone take that away.

 

8, 12

In a hotel room in Broken Bow, Nebraska, Sam discovered his Dad's journal and everything made sense. He asked Dean if monsters were real. The way Sam looked at him, defiant and challenging, made it impossible for Dean to lie. Even if Sam wasn't so interested it wasn't like he could brush the question off. The evidence was between them written in ink. The truth was a constant black smoke hanging in the air, waiting to be discovered. Dean's stomach twisted the same way it did whenever Sam asked questions about their mother. His stupid little brother always asked too many questions. Dean sat down on the bed opposite Sam's.

“The first thing you need to know is we have the coolest dad in the world. He's a superhero,” Dean said, tweaking the truth into something that resembled the stories he'd tell Sam sometimes before they went to sleep. Though, what he said wasn't far from the truth. Their dad could give Superman a run for his money.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “He is?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered seriously. “Monsters are real. Dad fights them. He's fighting them right now.”

“But Dad said the monsters under my bed weren't real,” Sam said quickly, fear creeping into his eyes.

“That's cuz he'd already checked under there.” Dean replied. He wished Sam would drop it. He didn't want to answer any more questions. If their Dad found out Sam had seen his journal he wouldn't be happy. He certainly wouldn't want Dean telling Sam all the things they'd been shielding him from all these years.

Sam wasn't dropping it. “If monsters are real, they could get us,” he said, and then after a pause, “They could get me.”

“Dad's not gonna let 'em get you,” I won't let them get you, Dean thought.

“But what if they get him?”

“They aren't gonna get Dad. Dad's like, the best.”

“I read in Dad's book that they got Mom,” Sam said hesitantly, knowing the subject was a sore one around Dean and their Dad. He really only ever dared to bring it up to his brother but even then he didn't get much more than glare and an order to stop bringing it up. To his surprise, Dean didn't snap at him, he only sighed.

“It's complicated Sam.”

“If they got Mom, they can get Dad, and if they get Dad they can get us,” Dean could tell Sam was afraid now, and Dean wondered if he should have lied, regardless of how ridiculous he would have sounded. Sam might have thrown a fit, maybe not talked to him for a couple of hours, but wouldn't that be worth it? Another day gone by that Sam could be a regular kid?

“It's not like that,” Dean said, moving to sit down on the bed next to Sam. “Dad's fine. We're fine. Trust me,” He looked intently at his brother, trying to convey how strongly he believed his own words. Sam didn't have anything to worry about because their Dad would protect him. Dean would protect him.

Sam looked away and Dean could tell it was because he was he was starting to cry. “You okay?” Dean asked while his stomach plummeted. He hadn't meant to scare Sam. He wanted him to understand that he didn't need to worry about this. Dean handled the worrying for the both of them; it was his burden to bear. That's just how it was supposed to be.

“Yeah,” Sam murmured, still looking away. Dean struggled for something to say, anything to make Sam feel a little better.

“Dad's gonna be here for Christmas, just like he always is,” It was the only thing he could think of and he regretted saying it immediately when he saw that it didn't comfort Sam.

“I just want to go to sleep, okay?” Sam said, suddenly turning over to lay on the bed and leaving Dean looking at his back feeling hopeless. He could hear Sam's breath stuttering as he tried to keep his crying quiet.

“It'll all be better when you wake up, you'll see,” Dean said softly. He moved back to his own bed and turned off the light. The moon filtered through the moth-eaten curtains and cast sharp shadows off of where Sam's shoulder blades rested underneath his shirt. Dean laid down and wondered what it would be like to be normal. He thought about how it would feel to be in his own room, on a bed he slept in every night. He thought about his Dad; he wondered what he'd do if he wasn't a hunter, if he was happy. Dean wondered what it would be like if his Mom was still alive. While he thought, Dean watched the way his brother's shirt shifted while he quietly cried.

“Hey Sammy?” Dean said, without knowing exactly what he meant to say after that. I'm going to take care of you. You don't need to worry. I take care of you every day and that's not going to change. Would you feel better if you came and slept over here? Just this once, while dad's away? Sam didn't respond so Dean continued. “You want to go see a movie at the theater tomorrow?”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said, before falling silent once again.

John never showed up for Christmas.

 

10, 14

When Dean was fourteen Dad had taken him and Sam to stay in Jefferson Arkansas. Dean didn't remember much about it, only the day he heard someone trying to open the hotel room door. He jumped to his feet in panic, and remembered what their Dad had told him two days earlier.

“I'm leaving this right here,” Dad had said, placing a gun in the drawer next to the holy bible. “If anything happens, you know what to do.” Dean had nodded in response, trying to arrange his expression into one that would show that leaving him to hold down the fort once again while Dad was away wouldn't be a mistake.

“Don't let Sam mess with it alright? I don't want him shooting his foot off,” Dad had said, giving Dean a tired smile. At this point Dean was used to being entrusted with the gun while Dad was away but the comment still made him feel important and responsible.

Of course with the doorknob rattling and Dad gone, Dean didn't really feel anything but scared. Last time something broke into the room he and Sam were staying in Dean had almost ruined everything. A Shtriga had come in and tried to take Sam in his sleep. When Dean saw the thing hunched over his little brother he had been too petrified to shoot. It was literally sucking the life out of Sam and all Dean could do was watch. It was like his ability to move had just disappeared and all he could do was stand by while that monster murdered his brother.

Their dad showed up a few seconds after Dean had walked in on the Shtriga attacking Sam and fired at the thing, sending it fleeing out the window. He was angry after he knew Sam was okay, rounding on Dean and demanding to know why he let it in—why he failed to do the most important job he'd ever been told to do. Dean didn't have any answers. He never forgave himself for freezing up. The thought of it was painful and embarrassing for Dean long after the Shtriga disappeared and he vowed not to make the same mistake twice.

Scrambling over to the nightstand beside the bed Dean grabbed the gun and held it as confidently as he could, heart beating fast and trying to prepare himself for whatever might burst through the door.

After a few seconds however, it became obvious that no one was going to be bursting inside. Whoever was attempting to get in gave a frustrated kick and then there was nothing. Still tensed and ready for an attack, Dean crossed the room and peeked through the window trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of whoever had just tried to get in.

All his fear melted away when he saw his brother sitting on the pavement, looking defeated.

Dean had the door open in a second. “You scared the shit out of me Sammy. I was ready to shoot you if you came through that door. Why aren't you at school?”

When Sam got up and turned around Dean saw that he was on the verge of tears. “I'm sick of being there Dean. I don't know why I have to go when you don't.” He pushed past Dean into the room.

“Hey, I go to school,” Dean said, shutting the door and turning to face Sam who was sitting on one of the beds. “I just didn't today because, you know..,” he searched lamely for an excuse, “I don't feel good,” Sam just rolled his eyes.

“Dean I'm not dumb. Dad says we both have to go to school. If he knew you kept skipping you'd be in so much trouble,” Sam spat out.

“Well you sure as hell aren't going to tell him,” Dean shot back angrily. The adrenaline from earlier was still needling through him and making him feel on edge.

Sam glared up at him. His eyes were flashing and his jaw was set in a way that Dean recognized as a precursor to a temper tantrum. He'd been having more and more of them lately. They'd seen even more hotel rooms than was normal for them lately and Dean figured it was the stress of that that was causing it. Still, Dean mostly wanted to smack his brother on the back of the head and send him back to school, but he knew he wasn't being completely fair. And he knew all too well how annoying the fit he would have to deal with would be if he didn't calm Sam down.

“Okay Sam, I'm sorry,” Dean said, putting the gun down and sitting down on the bed next to his brother, who was still crying. Dean ruffled a hand through Sam's hair and rested the other on his back. “What did I tell you about the tears man? You aren't going to get any chicks that way.”

Sam instantly relaxed at the gesture and even laughed a little, obviously pleased that Dean had chosen to comfort him instead of continue the argument. “I don't care,” Sam said with a slight wrinkle to his nose.

“What? You don't care all the hot girls are going to think you're a pussy?” Dean joked. In response Sam shook his head and wrapped his arms around Dean's midsection in an awkward side-hug. He didn't let go. Dean held him, one arm pulling him close.

“We never stay long enough for any girls to notice me,” Sam said the words pressed against Dean's shirt. He didn't sound disappointed, which Dean just attributed to him being ten years old and the fact that he was more concerned with school than the girls in it. He was a weird kid.

“That never stops them from noticing me,” Dean answered with a sly grin that earned him a dig in the ribs from his brother.

“Jerk,” Sam grinned up at him.

“Bitch.”

Dean let Sam stay home with him and watch cartoons that day, as long as he promised not to tell Dad. Sam promised not to tell Dad as long as Dean didn't skip school for a week.

12, 16

Sam’s 12th birthday would have been a bad one if it weren’t for the pie. At least, that’s how Dean remembers it.

On Sam’s birthday the year before, their dad never showed. He ended up coming back to town three days later saying that the job he was on was more difficult than he anticipated. Dean remember how crushed Sam had been, because their birthdays were always one of the occasions that meant Dad would be home. Their dad promised Sam he’d be there for his next birthday but now that the date was near, Dean wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t break that promise. The last time Dean had called him, two days before the big day, his dad told him he had a lead on a nest of vampires that were a couple states away. When Dean reminded him that Sam’s birthday was coming up he told him that he’d do his best to be there but it all depended on how the hunt went. Dean knew two days wasn’t enough time to find the nest, take the vampires out and get back to South Dakota where Sam and Dean were staying with Bobby, not even for their dad. 

On the morning of Sam’s birthday Dean got up before the sun rose to check if their dad had arrived sometime during the night. For a second he thought that by some miracle he had when he heard Bobby talking to someone down stairs, but when he crept to the edge of the stairwell to listen in he heard that even though it was his dad Bobby was talking to, it was through a phone.

“You’ve gotta learn to prioritize John. Sam ain’t gonna understand why you ain’t here no matter what I tell him. And to be honest I can’t say I blame him,” the agitation in Bobby’s voice was audible from where Dean was listening upstairs.

“Like I said, when something’s important you make time,” he said after a pause, and then “Well someone’s got to, I know you don’t want to hear it but these boys aren’t ready to take care of themselves. They both miss you, and I know Sam was really lookin’ forward to seein’ you. He’s been talking about it for days.”

Dean heard Bobby sigh. “Yeah I know. If you really want to thank me just come home soon, and don’t forget to least call him later.”

Dean made his way downstairs when he heard Bobby hang up. 

“He’s not going to be here then?” Dean asked, making Bobby jump.

“You about scared the life outta me. What are you doing up so early? Sam’s not awake is he?”

“No, he’s still sleeping. I got up to see if Dad had come back. I guess I got my answer though,” Dean said dryly, glancing at the phone.

Bobby grunted. “I’m sorry to say this Dean, but your Dad is one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. There’s no talking any sense into him when he’s made up his mind about something,” Bobby fell silent for a moment, obviously thinking back on the conversation he’d just had. “Dean why don’t you sit down for a second, I’d like to ask you about something.”

Dean walked the rest of the way into the living room and sat down at the table. Bobby continued. “You know that no matter what your dad does or says it ain’t your job to raise Sam? At least, it ain’t supposed to be. I just see you worryin’ over that boy like there’s no tomorrow, and I want you to know that Sam ain’t gonna be happy about everything all the time, and that ain’t your fault. Your dad is far from perfect, and when Sam wakes up today and finds out he’s missing another one of his birthdays he isn’t going to be happy about it. That’s got nothing to do with you Dean.”

Dean didn’t know it was that obvious that he was dreading having to tell Sam their dad hadn’t showed again. He nodded his head in response to what Bobby had said. 

“You gotta let him be unhappy sometimes, you gotta let him fight his own battles once in a while, and you’ve gotta stop taking that as a failure on your part. Both of you are growing up faster than I can keep track of. Your dad hasn’t let either of you be kids like he should have, but at least when you’re stayin’ here I won’t have you worryin’ over him.” 

“Thanks Bobby,” Dean said awkwardly, wondering why Bobby felt guilty enough about their Dad not coming home that he had to give Dean this speech. “I just know that Dad being gone all the time is hard on him. He doesn’t talk about it as much as he used to but I can still tell it bothers him. It just sucks sometimes you know?”

Bobby crossed the room and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Looks like it’s up to you and me to make this birthday good enough to distract him then. Where should we should start?”

Dean grinned. “Cake?”

When the sun rose Bobby took Dean into town to pick out a cake for Sam, but they ended up getting a pie instead. It took some convincing on Dean’s part; Bobby was suspicious of whether it was Sam’s interests he had at heart. In the end they settled on an apple pie, and a single slice of white cake that Bobby insisted on buying in case Sam “wanted something that he didn’t normally get to eat,” seeing as Dean pressuring Bobby into bringing home pies when they stayed over wasn’t an out of place occurrence. Dean picked out candles too, making sure to get the trick ones that were almost impossible to blow out. He made sure Bobby didn’t notice, or else he’d probably have to swap them out for the regular ones. 

When they got back Sam was awake and watching TV in the living room. When Dean saw him he put the grocery bags down and ran towards the couch, jumping on his brother and messing up his hair. “Hey Sammy, guess what today is?”

Sam struggled and tried to push Dean off of him, but was starting to laugh “Get off Dean, you weigh like 5,000 pounds.”

“You’re seriously calling me fat? That’s no way to treat a brother who’s awesome enough to get you birthday pie, is it?” Dean rolled off Sam and ran to the kitchen. He started getting the pie ready. He was beginning to get hungry after all. 

“You’re probably gonna eat it all anyway,” Sam called after him.

Bobby was just coming in, arms full of the other groceries they’d picked up. “Don’t worry Sam, I didn’t trust your brother for a second. There’s a piece of cake for you if you want it.”

While they ate Dean watched Sam carefully, looking for any sign that he was thinking about the obvious absence of their Dad. If it was bothering him he didn’t show it. He happily ate his cake, and even some of the pie, though Dean did a good job of finishing most of it off by himself. Afterwards Dean let Sam keep him company while he worked on one of Bobby’s old cars in the yard. Because it was his birthday, Dean let Sam laugh at him when he accidentally smacked his head on the hood in the middle of trying to explain how to fill the oil when it was running low. 

It wasn’t the best birthday, but Sam smiled the whole way through it, so Dean counted it as a success. 

13,17 

On July Fourth, 1996 in a wheat field in Colorado Dean had one of the best nights of his life. He had chatted up a pretty girl earlier that day, which wasn't out of the ordinary, but this one turned out to be extra special because she worked at her Dad's firework stand. Dean didn't see what he did as using her as means to an end because he would have thoroughly enjoyed her wet kisses and breathy giggles even if it hadn't made it possible for him to get into the firework storage tent and pocket a couple fireworks for him and Sam in the process. Well, maybe it was more than a couple. But Dean had his new friend to thank for that. Sam's eyes lit up with excitement when Dean showed him the bounty later that night.

“You wanna have a real Fourth of July this year Sammy?” Dean asked him, feeling like a million bucks when he saw the grin that spread across Sam's face.

They found a deserted field a couple miles from where they were staying that was perfect. That night Dean realized just how much weight he carried on his shoulders because for those few hours it was gone, and he was invincible. Watching Sam spin under the glittering sky while their stolen fireworks hissed and and sent wondrous colors raining down, Dean laughed until he was breathless. Sam was happy too, and that was what meant the most. Dean couldn't watch him enough. He watched him laughing and grinning and waving his arms around because he simply didn't have any other way to express his happiness. He saw the reflection of sparkling lights in Sam's eyes like glass when he looked towards the sky, and wondered if it was possible that was all Sam and not a reflection at all. Dean watched the joy dance across his brothers face, and knew it was because of him.

That Fourth of July—and for a while after that—the burnt smell of sulfur in the air that stung his nose would be one of his favorite smells. As an adult Dean wouldn't remember that though, his sentiments would quickly change. 

When both him and Sam had tired themselves with laughing and running around under the exploding fireworks, they lined up the rest of what they had and lit them all for a grand finale. They got a more spectacular show than they bargained for when one of the fireworks ignited a patch of dry grass that sent a good part of the field up in flames.

Sam and Dean ran then, ran out of the field and down the road and back home as fast as they could, night air ripping at their lungs and cold sweat beading on their foreheads. They would have been laughing if they had the breath to do it.

They burned down that field, but Dean didn't care. He didn't have a care in the world that night with Sam. And he was okay with that.

14, 18

When Sam was fourteen Dad brought the family to Clinton, Illinois. He didn't say what was there that made him want to stay more permanently than any other place they visited but they did nonetheless. They rented a house and when Sam enrolled in school, Dad said it would be for more than a couple weeks.

Dean wasn't completely warmed to the idea of settling down for any length of time now that he had finally gotten used to living life on the road; he was becoming a better hunter by the day. But Sam seemed to like the idea of having a place to call home and being able to be in one school long enough to learn his teachers' names.

Settling the family didn't slow their father's hunting activities down much. He was gone often, usually for days at a time. It didn't make sense to Dean why their Dad would ground him and Sam in one spot when it was obvious he was pursuing hunting trips that were out of state. He found out later that Dad wanted to stop moving Sam around so much while he finished school, because even though he'd hindered Sam's education in the past with all the moving he never meant it to be that way. In an effort to avoid going out of his mind with the new stagnancy in his life Dean would tag along on hunts as often as John would let him.

On a small job a couple hours from home John and Dean got more than they expected when a typical salt-and burn case turned out to be a demon. Dean had never encountered a demon before, thankfully the one that burned his mother up on Sam's ceiling was gone by the time Dean knew what was happening.

The blackness of it's eyes left Dean feeling cold in a way he couldn't describe. His Dad was more out of his element than Dean had ever seen him. Of course John had been up against demons before, he'd told Dean as much, but he'd also told him the extent of their power was still a mystery to him. When the damn thing flung Dean violently through the air and pinned him to the wall with nothing more than a flick of it's head, Dean was horrified to see his Dad unable to do anything but watch in terror. What was worse, Dean couldn’t do anything either. He struggled against the invisible force, muscles straining, but nothing happened. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even lift his head off the wall. 

Dean knew from his Dad's eyes that he was seeing Mom's death all over again, only with Dean in her place. He couldn't imagine anything else that would frighten his Dad enough to render him immobile.

“You're so pathetic that it's actually kinda sad,” The demon sneered, looking at John with disdain. “I mean, I heard your wife put on a pretty good show the night she died, with all the screaming. I would think you'd have had your fill, Johnny boy? I guess if it's entertainment you're looking for young Dean over here can die for you too, though he probably won't be as much fun. Doesn't look like as much of a screamer.”

“Why don't you come over here and find out huh?” Dean bit out. “You fucki--”

“Let him go,” John cut in in a voice that didn't sound like his own. The demon only laughed.

“Oh he's got a mouth on him doesn't he?” It crossed over to Dean and looked into his eyes with a grin. Dean would've kneed it in the balls if he wasn't still forced up against the wall. Instead he struggled under the demon's gaze. “Your dad never taught you to be quiet when the adults are talking, I see.”

The demon brought a finger up to it's mouth and shushed. Dean felt his jaw clamp shut against his will.

“I said let him go you piece of shit,” John said loudly and the demon turned.

Well it's no wonder Dean here doesn't have any manners!” It said, still grinning. “Lucky for you Johnny boy, I am going to let him go. See, I'm rooting for ya'. We demons, we really are horrible aren't we? I don't blame you for not liking us much,” the demon paused and brought his hand up to his chin with a mockingly quizzical expression on his face. “Oh wait, that's not true, I'm wonderful! So that can't be why I'm letting him go. No, it's because it's too fun watching you fail to put a stop to it now. I imagine this feisty little hunter you're training will bring me some entertainment sometime in the future too. So train him up for me okay, John? Make sure he's fit for the ring, and then give me a call.”

Dean had about ten things he'd like to say to that, but seeing as he couldn't he just fumed internally as the demon continued.

“But just so it's clear. I'm getting a bit bored of you popping up wherever I'm trying to have a little fun. I mean, you're just embarrassing yourself now. So my advice? If you can teach your boy some manners and train him up to be a better hunter than you are, then send him over. Hurry though, I've never been a patient guy.” The demon flicked his eyes over to the wall where Dean was still suspended and Dean felt pain, searing hot, as an unseen blow shattered into his shoulder. “Next time you try to find me John, I'll snap his neck. And that would be a shame, wouldn't it?”

Before John had a chance to respond, the demon was an enormous column of black smoke billowing up from the mouth of the man that the demon had possessed. Dean dropped to the floor and felt the pressure on his jaw release. He groaned in pain and clutched at his shoulder. It hurt like hell. Even worse than the time a poltergeist had managed to drive a steak knife two inches into his thigh. He grit his teeth against the throbbing pain. John was next to him in an instant. Fear was still in his eyes, but it wasn't as prominent.

“Dean. Dean, listen to me. You're okay,” His hands ghosted over Dean's arm and shoulder, assessing the damage. “It's dislocated. I need you to hold still, and don't fight me when I move your arm. This is going to hurt.”

Dean groaned and then yelled, as his Dad rotated his arm from side to side and eased it back into it's socket. Dean's shoulder popped back and the pain that had been throbbing through him was almost instantly replaced by a dull ache.

“So...that was a demon? Are they all that annoying?” Dean said after he had recovered and brought himself back to the moment. He glanced at the man who the demon had just left. He was on the floor with his eyes closed. Dean wondered what color his eyes were now, and couldn't shake the feeling that under those eyelids there was still only black.

“Yes, and I don't know,” John said sharply. He didn't seem to want to talk about it. “Dean, I should have been more careful. I'm sorry you were hurt.”

“I'm fine,” Dean said quickly, wishing his Dad would stop looking so guilty.

“I'm taking you home, you can keep Sam company for a couple days while you rest that arm,” John rose to his feet and Dean followed. He watched his Dad as he checked the unconscious man's pulse. “He'll wake in a couple hours.”

“But Dad, I said I'm fine. I don't want to go home--”

“I need you back the house with Sam. Don't push it okay?”

“You can't go off by yourse--”

John looked Dean straight in the eyes for the first time since they'd realized they were up against a demon. “Dean, get in the car right now and don't question me about this again. That's an order.”

Dean lowered his eyes and bit back a retort that simmered on the end of his tongue. “Yes, Sir.”

The car ride home was uncomfortably quiet. There were no words spoken but Dean could feel the weight of his father's thoughts in the air and he wondered what was going through his head. Probably thoughts about the yellow-eyed demon, and of Dean's mother, and about what had happened that night. Dean had questions swirling through his brain. He wanted to ask how the demon who had attacked them knew about his mom. He wanted to ask why it had been so interested in him and why it talked to his Dad like they'd met more than once. He knew better than to ask questions though; his dad still seemed agitated from Dean's resistance earlier. So instead he sat silently in the passenger seat, watching the lights of town after town disappear behind them.

They got home when it was still dark, at the quietest time of night when most everyone was sleeping and the sun wouldn't show for a few more hours. John didn't even get out of the car, he just stopped in front of the house and waited for Dean to get out. Dean didn't know what to say. He wanted to tell his Dad that what happened wasn't his fault, but he knew better than to say that sort of his thing so he waited for him to speak first.

“I'll be home in a couple days. If you need anything call. Stay out of trouble,” he told Dean. “And keep an eye on Sam.”

“Yeah, okay. See you later,” Dean hesitated before he shut the door. “Be careful.”

Something softened in John's expression and he gave a wan smile. “I'll do my best,” and then his Dad was gone.  
***

The first thing Dean did when he got inside the house was head to the kitchen. He didn't realize how hungry he was until he allowed himself to relax a little, but now he was ravenous. He was bent over with his head in the fridge searching for something to eat when he heard his name from behind him. He turned to see Sam standing in the doorway with ruffled hair and tired eyes.

“Hey Sam.”

Sam stepped into the kitchen, his eyes darting concernedly over his brother's face and clothes. “You're bleeding. What happened?”

It occurred to Dean that he hadn't even looked at himself yet. Though he wasn't surprised at what Sam asked from the throbbing on the side of his head where he'd been slammed into the wall. His arms were scraped up too.

“Demon pulled a fast on on us,” Dean said, a little bit proud he'd been up against a demon, even if it had kicked his ass. Sam's eyes widened.

“What? An actual demon? Are you okay?”

“'Course I'm okay. I'll just be a little sore in the morning.”

“You've got dried blood on the side of your face man. Sit down, I want to check your head,” Sam said pulling out a chair from the island next to them and pulling at Dean's arm, which made Dean flinch away in pain.

“What, you're my personal nurse now? Dude, I'm fine. I'll live. Just go back to bed,” Dean ignored the concerned look on Sam's face and began to turn back to the fridge.

“Dean,” Sam said quietly, stepping so close to Dean that he was forced to back up into the counter. With Sam standing so close, Dean realized how he'd filled out. Sam was almost taller than him now.

“Think you could maybe tone the anxious wife role down a bit? You're starting to get a little creepy.” Sam looked hurt at that. Jesus, had he turned into even more of a girl while Dean was away?

“Why have you been leaving with Dad so much lately?” Oh God. Not this again. “You can't just enjoy the fact that we're in an actual house for once? Just for a second?”

Ever since Sam had gotten old enough to take care of himself Dean had been able to hunt more with Dad, and Sam had always sulked about it. Sometimes Dean was able to convince Sam to come along, but that wasn't often.

“Because he needs my help Sam. He could use yours too, so why don't you quit bitching and come with us more often?” The question was ignored.

“You don't have to risk your life for Dad all the time just because you think that's the only way you'll be something to him. Last time I checked, Dad started all this because of Mom. So we should just be searching for the yellow-eyed demon and once we kill that it will be the end of it. Who says you have to help him chase down all these other monsters?”

“I do Sam. I like hunting,” Dean said agitatedly, pushing Sam to the side. “And it's none of your damn business what I do. If anything you're the one who needs bitched at. Dad and I are risking our asses out there and you just sit here doing what exactly? Looking pretty?”

Dean saw the anger flare up in Sam's features. “What am I supposed to do when dad fucks up and gets you killed Dean? I mean look at you,” Sam said, gesturing to the bloody side of Dean's head.

“This isn't Dad's fault.”

“Yes. It is his fault. He's not your fucking drill sergeant. He's our Dad, he's supposed to keep us safe, but he doesn't.”

“You know what? I'm really not in the mood for your whining. I've just had my ass beaten by a demon, I feel like I haven't eaten in three days and I'm fucking tired. So if you don't mind, I'd like to have this conversation later. Or never if you can swing it,” Dean's head was really throbbing now and he just wanted to lay down.

“I don't want to lose you Dean,” Sam said, voice quiet again. Dean looked at him, feeling suddenly awkward. He felt like he was looking at something forbidden, some personal part of Sam that he wasn't supposed to see.

“Jesus Christ, Sam, I'm not going anywhere. What the hell is wrong with you?” Dean tried to ignore the ache in his stomach and continued in a softer tone. “Look at me. Everything's fine. I'm home now, aren't I?”

Dean would have been prepared for a punch before he was prepared for Sam's body pressing against his, nudging him once again into the counter. A fraction of a second before it happened Dean saw it coming, and couldn't do anything at all. Sam was kissing him.

In an instant that nagging fear that Dean had spent a good part of his life trying to ignore was realized, bristling through him and twisting his stomach in knots. Sam wasn't just a little overly clingy; this wasn't Sam's way of working through puberty. This was Sam wanting his older brother and finally acting on it in a way that could never be construed as anything else, even by Dean.

Dean reacted the way he always did when he was taken off guard or felt out of control, he lashed out. Before he'd thought about it he had pushed Sam off of him and punched him hard in the side of the face, sending him stumbling back. He regretted it instantly.

Dean might have been surprised at the kiss, but from the shocked look on Sam's face he was just as surprised at Dean's reaction. Sam stood there touching his fingers to where Dean had hit him with his eyes closed.

“Sam, I—”

“Don't. Just don't,” Sam opened his eyes and Dean saw they were full of bitterness. Dean felt like his stomach was shriveling into nothing inside him; Sam had never looked at him that way.

Sam stood there for another moment before turning and walking out of the kitchen, leaving Dean feeling more miserable than he had at any point during his already sub-par night. He listened to the house creak as Sam made his way upstairs and to his room. Everything in Dean told him to follow his brother but he had no idea what he would say, so instead he gathered his thoughts back into as rational an order as he could and he made himself a sandwich.

After he'd finished eating, Dean headed upstairs and on the way to his room he slowed in front of Sam's door to listen but there was nothing. More than anything he wanted to open the door, say something to fix whatever had been broken. But Dean still had no idea where he'd start, or even if Sam would listen to him. It was probably better to let Sam come to him when he was ready anyway.

In his own room Dean struggled to fall asleep, and when he finally did he spent the night running from the demons that chased him in his dreams.

***

A week passed and Sam didn't talk about it. Dean didn't push him to. That was always their way when things like this happened. Dean didn't talk about it when Sam had a wet dream in Dean's bed when he was thirteen, breathing his brother's name against Dean's pillow. They didn't talk about how snappy Sam would get when Dean brought girls home.

Occasionally Dean would catch Sam watching him with a certain expression when he was driving him to school or while they watched TV. These glimpses were unsettling to Dean, because part of him knew what they meant even if he'd tried his best to put it out of his mind. He couldn't deny it though, Sam didn't look at him the same way he had when they were both young. Dean couldn't pinpoint when things started to change, but they had, somewhere along the way. Of course, they never talked about that either. If they didn't talk about it, it was almost like it didn't matter.

Dean was eighteen and he'd known for a while that the relationship he had with his brother wasn't completely socially acceptable but it was always just how they functioned together. Sam had been pretty physically attached to Dean ever since Dean could remember, and generally he didn't have a problem with that.

But then Sam kissed him. And that was something new, something different. It had crossed a line that had been growing more fragile each year that Sam got older. Each time Sam would test the unspoken boundary between them in the past something in the back of Dean's mind told him it was his job to put a stop to it, but he never did. Whether that was because Sam's behavior didn't bother him enough for him to take action or because he was afraid, Dean didn't know. But to rationalize it he assured himself that what he and Sam had worked. He didn't see the point in risking complicating the issue when he was comfortable with what Sam was in his life. Whatever was between them that they never talked about would resolve itself eventually. At least, that's what Dean told himself before. He couldn't bring himself to believe that now. It was clear this wasn't going away. Still, Dean was never one to talk about his feelings even when he needed to, especially if these feelings included how he felt about his brother wanting him in a way that brothers never should.

A week passed and Sam didn't talk about it. Dean didn't push him to.

A week turned into four years.

 

18, 22

The Winchesters were back in Kansas. That's where Sam graduated from high school and three months later that's where he walked away from Dean for the first time.

Being back in their hometown and having a little stability didn't make the family any more functional. The fights between Sam and Dad were getting progressively worse. Dean would angrily slam the door and go for walks to clear his head when they fought, leaving them alone to tirelessly hurl insults and threats at each other. Tonight there was a stronger fire in Sam than usual and Dean could hear the hate dripping from the words he spat at their Dad in the kitchen.

“You think mom would want this life for us? You think she wanted you to abandon us all the time we were growing up because all you care about is getting revenge?” came Sam's voice, daring Dad to lose whatever control he had on the situation.

“Sam, you shut your mouth,” responded Dad's voice, low and full of warning. “You have no idea what your mom wanted.”

“Yeah no thanks to you. See she got burned to death before I got the chance to ask her,” Sam didn't seem to be holding anything back. Dean wasn't surprised when he heard a smack and a thud. He didn't want to stick around to find out where that was going to take the argument so he was outside and walking fast before he had the chance to hear anything else.

Later that night when Dean finally decided to drag himself back through the front door he found the house dark and quiet. John had left without any trace, well, except for the gun laying on the counter in the kitchen. When Dean thought about all the weapons in the house during the arguments Sam and their dad had it made him uneasy. He trusted his Dad but Sam was always so stupid when he was upset. Momentarily Dean worried that Sam might have left the house too but he heard a thud from upstairs, from the sounds of it, it was coming from Dean's room.

Still vaguely pissed about Sam not keeping his mouth shut earlier Dean stomped upstairs and pushed open his door, prepared to chew Sam out for being a whiny, insensitive brat. He didn't know what he expected, but his stash of whiskey in Sam's hand was not it.

“Hey Dean,” Sam said with a smile. “You missed the show. Just in time for the party though.”

“Dammit Sam,” Dean said, walking up to his brother and ripping the bottle out of his hands. This was petty. Sam didn't usually drown his miseries with alcohol. He didn't look drunk either, which made Dean doubt he'd even drank anything. He probably waited until he heard Dean get home to put on appearances, which meant he had no motive whatsoever in tapping into Dean's stash other than to show him he was feeling sorry for himself.

Dean sighed as he set the bottle down on his dresser. “Where's Dad?”

“Stormed off a little after you did. He's probably at a bar,” Sam said bitterly.

Dean began to notice the bruising on Sam's face now that he was closer, an angry flush of red above the hollow of his left cheek. Dean didn't think he was bleeding, but it was too dark to know. “Come on,” Dean said, not wanting to hear the whiny monologue that was sure to come if he allowed it. Dean grabbed Sam and pulled him behind him to the bathroom where he could get a better look at his face.

Sam sat on the toilet lid and Dean cupped the bottom of his face and tilted it into the light. Now the bruising was obvious, burst blood vessels speckling crimson down Sam's cheek and swelling around the corner of his eye. There was a bruise purpling the edge of Sam's jaw as well; it looked even worse than the one on his cheekbone. Dean brushed his thumb over the red skin under Sam's eye and he flinched in pain.

“You're a real dumb-ass sometimes, Sam. You know that?” Resentment flared up deep within Dean. Taking care of Dad when he was drunk and bruised was something that was happening more and more these days. From the looks of it, Sam was threatening to go down the same path. Who said that it was Dean's job to keep picking up the pieces left by his broken family?

“Oh shut up, Dean,” Sam slurred from the way Dean's fingers were pressing against his cheeks. “Dad's fucking us over and you know it.” Dean let go of Sam's chin and prodded him in the chest.

“Sam seriously, stop talking about him that way. You don't get how much he does for us.”

“No, you don't get it,” Sam said, raising his voice. “You just do whatever he asks, you...you clean up all his damn messes, you'd think Dad was a god the way you talk about him. He's not a hero, Dean. We're living this shitty life because of him. He doesn't give a crap about what either of us want, he just cares about finding the goddamn demon.”

“That goddamn demon killed our Mom, Sam. And don't speak for me. I don't know how many times I have to tell you that I want this. I'm not good for much, but I can hunt. I've saved Dad's ass more than a few times now.” Part of Dean wanted to get pissed and teach Sam to shut his mouth. But he gathered from the fight earlier that Sam was in a venomous mood and it was obvious he was only stoking whatever fire made his opponent squirm. For Dad, it was Mom's death. For Dean, it was Dad's honor. To be honest, Dean was tired and he didn't care as much as he should. Suddenly the thought of laying down and drifting into unconsciousness was more than a little appealing.

“Well I don't fucking want this,” Sam spat, clearly agitated that Dean wasn't taking the bait. “I've never been a part of this family anyway. And if giving up my spot on the Winchester dream team will get me away from this and make me a little less of a freak then sign me up.”

Now that riled something in Dean's gut. Sam usually stuck to attacking the image of their father. What came out of his mouth just now however was clearly also an attack on Dean, and it hurt. It also made him remember the school books Sam had bought for Stanford. The books Sam was going to return when he realized he was being stupid thinking he was going to go to school half a country away.

“And what are you going to do? Just up and leave us? The world is your fucking oyster now, and we're only holding you back? Fine then, leave. I'm sick of your bullshit anyway,” Dean pushed Sam away hard and stormed out of the bathroom, leaving Sam to try and keep his balance. In his own room Dean flung his jacket into the corner and then decided to slam his door for good measure so Sam didn't think it was okay to come in and attempt to keep the argument going. The message must have been clear because the hall outside was silent, and after a couple minutes Dean was confident Sam wasn't going to come in after him.

Dean didn't bother undressing beyond taking off his shoes; he was too pissed to bother making himself comfortable. He laid down on his bed with his back to the door and hoped Sam could feel the cold shoulder from wherever he was.

***

“Dean.”

Dean jolted awake. “What Sammy, wha's wrong?” He struggled to shake the sleep from his mind and half propped himself up in the bed, grasping for his gun on the nightstand. 

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, Dean. I just..,” Sam said in a low voice, “I just want to talk.” Dean saw his brother standing next to his bed staring down at him. He couldn't see his face, the moonlight from his window was behind Sam and masked his front in shadow.

Now that he was fully awake Dean remembered he was supposed to be angry at Sam. He considered turning over and telling Sam to leave him alone but he couldn't muster the feelings he had before he fell asleep. “You woke me up in the middle of the night to talk?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I guess so,” Sam said.

“If you want to talk about earlier, we can fight in the morning. I think I was dreaming about Jaclyn Smith and if I go to sleep quick enough she might still be there.” 

“Dean please. I want to apologize for earlier. I'm pissed at Dad, not you. I didn't mean...can I turn the light on? I can barely see you,” Sam turned the light on without waiting for an answer, and Dean groaned loudly, pulling the covers over his face.

“It's the middle of the night, whatever it is can wait until tomorrow.”

When Sam didn't answer, Dean drew back the covers. His younger brother was still sitting there, but now that the light was on Dean could see that he was battling with something, his eyebrows were scrunched together and he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. It's the same thing he used to do as a kid after he told a lie. Dean propped himself up on his elbow.

“Okay, spit it out.”

“I just—I know this isn't a good time, but it's not like there's ever going to be a good time for this, and I wanted to talk about it before Dad got home.”

Dean felt his insides wrench horribly at that, dread immediately permeating every vessel in his body. It suddenly occurred to him why Dad had punched Sam again after Dean had left. It was stupid of him not to have realized it before. Sam had been dropping hints about this for months. Well, if Dean was right about what Sam was going to say then he was just going to have to stop him from saying it.

“If this is about college or whatever, I get it. I know you want to go. Now, just go away man. I want to go back to sleep.”

“Dean, I got my acceptance letter a couple months ago. I'm leaving tomorrow. I already told Dad,” Sam said the words softly, but he still sounded much more confident than he looked.

For a second Dean didn't register the words and he just stared at his brother dumbly. Sam stared back looking nervous, scanning Dean's face for a reaction. And then the words clicked as Dean felt panicked and confused and angry all at once, like he'd been caught with his pants down in front of a crowd. He'd never prepared himself for the chance that Sam might actually do this. He never thought he'd actually leave. Suddenly he was out of bed, angrier than he'd been in a long time.

“Sam you aren't going to that damn school, and that's it. There isn't anything to talk about.” Dean didn't know if Sam would start screaming at him like he did with their Dad earlier, but if he did, Dean was ready. He could feel the adrenaline for a fight filling him and even though Sam was bigger Dean could still kick his ass if he wanted. But as he watched, Dean saw that Sam didn't look angry. He looked crushed. When Sam spoke it was in the same gentle voice that he used before.

“No, it's not like that anymore. I'm an adult now, and I've made my decision. I've got classes lined up, and I've got my tuition paid for. It's not up to you to decide if I go or not.”

The way Sam was talking was infuriating. Did he honestly think if he said the words in a softer voice it would hurt less, did he think it would make his betrayal suddenly okay? Sam was telling him he was leaving. There wasn't much to be done about softening that blow. Dean wished Sam would yell. Then he would have an excuse to punch him.

“You can't up and leave just because you want to be normal. College isn't for you and me Sam, it's not what you think it is. ”

“I've never been a hunter Dean. I'm not like you and Dad. I never will be,” Sam said carefully, afraid of worsening the situation. His shoulders were slumped and Dean countered Sam's body language, squaring his own.

“Sam, that's bullshit. I've seen what you can do out there, and you were just a kid during most of those hunts! And college? You're just abandoning me and Dad to get a taste of the real deal, but you already had that. You got to do the high school thing, okay? You got to do homework and learn math and all that other shit normal kids do. But that's over now. Now you can help me and Dad. You could be one hell of a hunter if you did, I can see it in you.”

“It's not just that. I just have to get away,” Sam said, not looking at Dean anymore.

Dean ignored Sam. “The fighting will get better, too. Dad says we're getting closer to finding the demon and once we kill it he won't be such an ass to you. It'll get better, alright? Things will change.”

Sam looked up and met Dean's eyes. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen his brother look so miserable. “It's not just Dad, Dean. I need to get away from you.”

Sam's words were like a physical blow and Dean felt heat rise in his cheeks. “Come again?”

“I can't do it anymore, I can't have you right next to me every day. It's killing me.” And Sam was baring his soul again, just like that night before he kissed Dean, just like the times Dean caught him staring. And Sam did look tired when he spoke, he looked small and vulnerable. Like he was waiting for another punch that he would just accept because he thought he deserved it.

Memories of Sam cuddling close to him at night when they were younger flooded into Dean's mind, the memory of when Sam kissed him. “You don't have to run away from this, I know we haven't ever really worked this out but that doesn't mean you have to run. I, um..this is mostly my fault. It is. I should have talked with you about this a long time ago but I don't know, I just didn't know how.”

“You didn't know how to deal with your little brother loving you like this?” Sam bit out. “You can say it, Dean. I'm leaving anyway, there's no point in skirting around it.”

And there it was. The thing that had been unspoken between them for all those years was there, hanging in the air, and it sounded defeated. It sounded broken. It knocked the anger right out of Dean.

“Sam, I don't blame you for anything. It's okay. I don't, this doesn't change anything between us or anything.”

Sam laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, that's the problem.”

Dean didn't know what to say, all he knew was that he was standing in his room in the middle of the night, watching his brother slip away from him. Sam buried his face in his hands.

“I need you to stay here. We're a team right?” Dean pleaded. He felt tears welling up in his eyes and he tried to will them to disappear. “I'm begging you. Please Sam, don't go. Not because of me.”

Sam just shook his head. “Dean, you don't understand what it's like. I hate myself. I see you with girls and I want it to be me. You don't get how fucked up that makes me feel. Knowing what I want, and that you don't. You're my fucking brother. I can't deal with that anymore. I tried to be different, after you punched me. I knew it was disgusting to you when you did that. That was what I was always afraid of. But when you hit me I finally knew and I tried to stop wanting it,” Sam was beginning to cry now too. He took a deep breath and continued, with a firm voice.

“I need to get away from you before it kills me. I need to get away from hunting, and Dad, and this, and I need to move on and try to have a regular life. As long as I'm here with you, I'm always going to be a freak.”

“I've never thought you were a freak Sammy, never. And you're not disgusting alright?”

“You punched me when I kissed you,” Sam said, looking doubtful. “You can't tell me this is all okay with you.”

Dean didn't know how to express how he was feeling without it coming out all wrong. He stumbled through his words.” I don't think you're a freak. I mean, this, how you feel, it isn't exactly...normal or whatever,” Dean hurriedly continued when he saw the misery in Sam's features deepen. “But it doesn't weird me out. I've known for a while and I haven't done anything to stop it. All I've ever tried to do while we were growing up is protect you, make you happy, give you as much of a childhood as I could with Dad dragging us all over. And, uh...being with me, or whatever it is that you want, I don't want to be responsible for doing that to you. If you found out that's not what you want, I'm guessing that kind of thing can really mess you up.”

It wasn't like this was the first time Dean had ever entertained the thought of him and Sam in that way. It was one day when Sam got him pinned on the ground with hardly any fight at all when they were wrestling over the remote that he realized. Sam was bigger than him now, probably stronger too. And almost all of the lanky awkwardness of his early teen years had disappeared to make way for what Sam was now, a young man that had finally grown into his skin. It was easier thinking about it now that his brother wasn't a kid anymore.

Dean also came to understand that Sam was beautiful. Not only because he sometimes raked in more numbers than Dean could on a night out, but also because Dean saw it himself. He saw it in the way Sam moved. He saw it when Sam did his best to follow Dean's instruction on how to fix the Impala, bent down and looking under the hood, concentration on his face. He saw it when he laughed, and when he cleaned the guns Dean and his Dad had used on a hunt. In the past, even though Dean came to see these things about his brother, he never chose to think on them for long. After all, this was Sam.

Sam didn't respond to what Dean had just said, he only stared back at him looking defeated. He could see that nothing he was saying was getting Sam any closer to deciding to stay, so Dean feel back on his last resort. “Sammy if that's what you really want man, if you know that's what you want and you can't be happy with someone else...I could try. I mean, I don't think I could, you know, do some things,” He thought of when he woke up to Sam panting his name in his sleep, and tried to understand how exactly he felt about it, “but like now, you could kiss me if you really want to, I won't punch you I promise,” Dean felt more awkward than he'd felt in his whole life.

Sam looked angry and Dean's stomach plummeted. That wasn't the reaction he was going for. “No Dean, I don't want to this be an unpleasant chore for you. That's not why I came in here. I didn't come in here to ask you to do anything. I'm just saying goodbye,” Sam got up and made for the door. Dean grabbed his arm.

“Sam no, don't leave. I want it, I want you to kiss me. Please, just stay,” Sam turned and shoved Dean away from him.

“Don't Dean. Don't fucking lie to me. Not about this,” Dean could see he was close to tears again. “I need to do this for myself, and for you. It's the only way to make things better.”

“Dude, quit being such a drama queen and just sit down,” Dean said, annoyed and desperate.

“No, I think I'm just going to leave now, I can't stay here another night. Tell Dad..,” Sam trailed off. “You know what? Never mind, I don't have anything to say to him. I guess this is goodbye Dean.”

Dean just stood there, having exhausted all his avenues for convincing Sam to stay, and not knowing what to do now that his brother was saying goodbye. He wasn't going to say goodbye back because Sam wasn't leaving. He couldn't be.

Sam hesitated, waiting for Dean to say something. When he didn't, Sam reached for the door. “I'll let you know my address when I get moved in, in case you ever want to stop by. Don't get yourself killed while I'm gone.” He slipped out and closed the door behind him, leaving Dean staring at the spot where his younger brother had been standing.

When Dean couldn't hold his anger inside any longer he yelled and punched his dresser as hard as he could, splintering the wood and leaving blood. He sat down on his bed cradling his hand and breathing fast, listening to the sound of Sam packing across the hall. He listened until he heard Sam walk by his room and down the stairs and finally, out the front door.

That night, when Sam left for Stanford, something in Dean changed. After that, when he went on hunts with his Dad he wasn't as careful. He was quicker to react and more brutal when he had to kill. He didn't really care if he got hurt because he didn't have Sam to keep safe anymore. He didn't have Sam at all anymore.

For the first time since the day Dean's parents had brought Sam home from the hospital after he was born, Dean didn't have anyone to look after; he didn't have any real use.

The night Sam left was the night Dean first realized he needed Sam just as much as Sam had always needed him.


End file.
